The Game

Leisure dome, Otium, Roma di Mare. Let the Game begin.

First, nothing. But then a Woman creating The Water: The Stream feeding the Great River, The Great River feeding The Ocean, The Ocean which The Heaven, and The Heaven which fed secret sources, where once The First Stream originated.
Another Person clayed soil in its hands, hills were topped, giving view to The River, giving slopes up and downhill. The open places in its creation were filled with beaches of white sand and fields of dark mud, so Water and Earth would have something to do.
Then , a virtile Man sprayed life in Water and over Land, to occupy every single spot. When they were finally ready, the Three layed down to rest. And guess what? They started to talk. About the reason why. Why they made it., knowing there has been nothing in the first place.

The Woman said 'We did it for our own pleasure, to ensure ourselves to have something to play with'.

The Person said 'No, we did it to create a home for ourselves, a place we own'.

The Man said: 'We did it to feel we erected something, so we can say "Look what we did", and we did  it to be proud and respectful'.

The discussion was becoming quite boring to the Woman. In the meantime she frumblrd restlessly with her fingers and some funny pink stuff. "Look, I will show you what I am trying to say. I just made a pink model, a piece of lovely architecture and I am going to put it down next to the River. Like a darling place of lust. That is not all, I will proceed creating an inhabitant, which is allowed to enjoy all good things'.

I am worth 1 billion

Something new is going to happen at the Otium


Next thursday I have a meeting scheduled with the sound artist Margriet.

My idea is to think about and give shape to a performance. An outdoor performance to honour Oopje. Yes, the lady of the painting! So much discussed this year in France and the Netherlands. Oopje. She is a saint!

Wouldn't it be great to celebrate St. Oopje at the 1st of March, to start in 2016?!

So she can become next to St.Maerten, already a joyful day in the Netherlands. To celebrate St. Maerten, children sing songs and collect candy. It is a bit like Halloween, but not so scary.

To be continued...

Winter wisdom

Yesterday, I visited my ill mother. She lives in Soesterberg, in the house of her parents, my grandparents. I brought her handmade choclates from the city of Groningen. After ringing the doorbell five or six times, she opened the front door. Delighted.

Coffee. Let 's have some coffee. Where is the filter? I go look in the cellar. My mom mumbles. Thirty minutes later. Coffee, anyone?

I go upstairs. All the way up to the attic. A huge attic. Where my mom and her older sisters and brother swayed during wintertimes. Before the War.1939 vielleicht. She was three years old. They had to move out, later, for some years. Ordered by men with guns and loud voices.

Everything is peaceful when I pull the cord to get acces. A dark triangular deep space. As far as my eyes can see. What am I looking for. Txts. Some txts I produces years and years ago. Research, poetry, written stories I made up. I had to. Doing my time on the gymnasium. City of Zeist, hidden in the woods. Armando used to paint. So emotional. Did he or did he not kill a man. Did he see it. Hear it. Smell it. He still paints. He can't stop. Like me, this summer. I couldn't stop touching. The soft screen on my lap. In front of me. I hardly touched my son. He made me remember to do it to him. Smart son. Accessible mother.

On my way up I saw a red and white striped cover, bulking, yellowbraun newspapercutouts fringing. What the fuck! It looks like a complete organised personal medical encyclopedia. I thought these days were over. Well, you are guessing already. I am going to share this with you. No doubt.

Z.
Zelfdoding
Zenuwen
Zonnebrand
Zeeziekte
Zwakzinnigheid
Zelfinseminatie

Dear dearest Mijnske S. novel 2015

Everybody who thinks to recognize any of the names written in this novel is probably right. Amersfoort is a city in the Netherlands.

Reason.

Aristoteles :  There is still one case where the unjust insight keeps emerging. That case occurs when I know you and Theo ( - frastus) and at the same time my recollection of both of you occurs. In a distance I see you and him in a blur. From a visual approach I have to name the common cores of you and him, by looking at both of you. The survey I conduct then has to be placed in my body, in the top of my body, the so called head, from the outside. Brain, from the inside.
But what happens if I counter. Turn things up side down, inside out. Exchange the cores and the names of your and his body. Is it a misstake then? Like looking in a mirror, when the faces left and right are viewed upon like the other sides. Right at that moment, confusion emerges, originates. Unjust insights, if you please.

Mijnske S. : Suppose you are right, Aris. At least you just gave me and T. some words, a way of thinking about what might happen to get insights of the things.

T.: Suppose you are wrong, Totelus. The eye of humans, of me and M. have the shape of a globe. Merry goes round and round. Never goes insight the things, in the eye. The farrest in is probably the pupil. A black spot in our eyes. And then, when it enters, it might dissolve, vanish, dissolute.

Ar.:

Reasonable doubt and thinking

Doubt grows with knowledge . Written and orcsaid by J.W. Goethe, somewhere between 1749 and 1832. Maybe exactly in 1800.

Today I would say: progressing insight / voortschrijdend inzicht.

A chessplayer  has to think some time before acting, before moving another piece. Piece de resistence...

So, one could say, to doubt is to wiegh is to think pro and contra and in between is to think some time.

De stem van Herman W. In de nacht van 5 op 6 oktober 2015

6 October 2015, 02.00-03.00 uur EO Radio 1.
Een schriftelijk verslag.

Muziek. Gossiping the green, Winterbirds, Ray la Montagne, beetje hese stem.

Kerken, uitzending in de nacht van, met......vragenstellende vrouwenstem. Majestueuze stadskernen, eenvoudige dorpskerken. Leegstaande kerken, NL is er vol mee. Arnhem. Jozefskerk is nu indoorskate ruimte. Mensen hebben heel veel herinneringen. Maximaal 104 BMX skaters op zondag. # Twitter Dit is de nacht. 02.08 uur De heer Wesselink, bent u daar? Nee, nog niet.
Muziek. My little town, Simon en Garfunkel. Vrouwenstem Toen ik mijn ogen sloot zag ik de kleine dorpskerken van Friesland en Groningen voor me.
Muziek. I am happy just to be. In your life. There is no shadow, no darkness. I am living in your life.
Wat is je lievelingskerk? De mooiste kerk bestaat niet, net zomin als de liefste moeder. Rooms-
katholiek, 19de eeuw. Pierre Cuypers, architect.
Mystiek waar je u tegen zegt. St.Jozefskerk, Groningen. Die kerk heeft een inval van licht en gebrandschilderde ramen. (De kerk heet tegenwoordig St. Jozefkathedraal, MAS)
Wat gebeurt er met u als u dat licht ziet?
Een vriend zei ooit Herman Wesselink zou hiervan in opperste vervoering kunnen raken. Geestverheffend. Dat iets is moeilijk te omschrijven.

Kerken van allerlei geloof functioneren hetzelfde. Ontworpen met het concept van de liturgie. Dat wil zeggen, ruimte en vorm gegeven aan de eredienst. De stand van de banken, de kansel.

Blablablabla


Toen ik tien was begreep ik het niet helemaal, waarom ze die kerken sloopten. De Koninginnekerk, Rotterdam, Crooswijk, protestants.
Kerken zijn beeldbepalend, herkenbaar, in het straatbeeld. Het gevoel thuis te zijn. Als ik erlangs fiets is dat toch een heel vertrouwd beeld.
Wat is er uniek aan een kerkgebouw?
Uniek, uniek?
Is het gebruikelijk om voor een protestant naar katholieke dingen te verlangen?
Het is het transcendentale. Je kunt liefde voor die gebouwen vinden.
Beller. Amsterdam, de Chassekerk in West, RK, 1927 gebouwd,  kerk stond later leeg. Ervaarde je de gewijde monumentale sfeer.
Herman. De gevolgen van sloop zijn dat er geen moment van stilte is te ervaren. Ik ben voor het behoud van het kerkgebouw als beeldmerk. Dat kan blijven door goede lokale samenwerking, door draagvlak. En eerst de creatie daarvan, natuurlijk.

The Great story of Greeningen. Scape 7

Birthplace of creativity

The greenitude of our city draws the produce of the world into our hearts, so that to the Greenian the flowers of other cities are as familiar as a luxury as those of ourselves.

Wooden shoes are a surprise on a yellow boulevard. They sound like marching violins. Follow the violin player and a great square will open in front of your eyes. Glass buildings, hiding away in drawers, these dancing shoes, signed by the most illustrious designers worldwide. What is it that make your old hearts beat faster. The soundless butterflies coming to you, to your shoulders and rest for a while. Like all the citizens do once in a while at the Great Market Plaza, the Agora, the view from the Great City Building, with its monument for war sculpted on the front elevation. Where one stands before the grand stairs of one of the many City balconies.